Spiked Peach Tea
by Verboten Byacolate
Summary: Renji had spilled a strawberry daquiri all over her new blouse, and Toshiro had her pinned against the futon, telling her that she wasn't needed. And yet, Hinamori still wasn't quite ready for the night to end. HitsuHina


_Kiss me under the table.  
Make believe in love.  
And dream me under the table.  
It makes me feel, it makes me feel  
... alive._

_--_

Human sake wasn't nearly as potent as that in Soul Society, but it didn't matter to someone with as little resistance as Toshiro. All night, he'd protected Momo from the Sprite-spiking whims of a fiesty Rangiku ("_Don't you dare_, Matsumoto!"), but in doing so had lowered the guards to protect himself from her devious tendancies. Which was why he was in his current state: drunk as a sailor.

"Hitsugaya-kun," Momo said with a slight edge to her voice. "Urahara-san and the others will be back soon, so please don't break anything. Just... sit still. Please?"

"Where are you--" a hic between slurrs, "going, Hinamori?"

She didn't bother getting flustered in front of her drunken friend, sliding the rice paper door to the other rooms of the small shop. "I'm changing. Please, sit."

Hitsugaya narrowed his eyes, still retaining enough of his composure to glower at her for giving him an order. "I'll stand." Hiccup.

She sighed in return. "As you wish," and left.

The room Urahara had assigned her was probably a storage area he had Ururu and Jinta clean out before their arrival. There was a large closet filled with clothes for a range of size, age, and gender, as most from Soul Society came to Urahara's shop when there was no where else to go for food and shelter and other freeloading benifits. She had heard from Renji that the four occupants of the household liked to guilt-trip the guests for even exsisting in the small building, but so far, she'd heard none of it from them. Perhaps they enjoyed Shiro-chan's company better than Renji's...?

Momo giggled at the thought, slipping off her shirt, which smelled of cigarette smoke and the strawberry daiquiri that Renji had accidentally spilled on her in an attempt to throw it at Ichigo. Removing the rest of her clothing and slipping on a white undershirt and shorts, the shinigami took her bun down and raked thin fingers through her hair. She sighed. If she hadn't bathed before going to the bar, she would have now. But she had no excuse, since the daquiri hadn't gotten in her hair. Just her shirt.

She folded the dirty clothes and set them in a pile on her futon, considering picking up the other clothes that she'd tried on before going out, but ultimately decided agaisnt it because of her current priority--

"What's wrong?"

Hinamori jumped, swinging around to see the (now) tall, regal, very drunk figure of Hitsugaya Toshiro in the doorway of her room. In doing so, her feet got themselves tangled in said clothing she'd discarded hours earlier, and the flushed, startled Momo found herself falling prey to gravity with a yelp and a muffled thump. "Hitsugaya-kun! What are you doing in here?! Hou long..."

"Just a second," he said, sounding no-nonsense and firm even with a slight slur in his speech. Toshiro crossed over to her in two strides of his (now) long legs and offered her his hand. "I heard you sigh, so I assumed that something... _hic_... was wrong." The impression it left would have been more impressive if that tiny sway hadn't been present while he stood. But still, she took his hand. He lifted her up effortlessly. Maybe a little _too_ effortlessly, because, in a miscalculation of distance, Hinamori ended up being pulled a little farther than intended. A little... closer.

"Oof!"

Hinamori looked up. Hitsugaya looked down. A look passed between them. In a single heartbeat (a breath, a blush, a flutter or three) Momo froze. "Hi... Hitsu...Hitsugaya-k-ku--"

_Thud. _

She was against the wall because he'd lost his balance. Nothing more. He couldn't help that she had incidentally been in between him and his prop. Still, she would have expected that he'd be able to regain the lost balance after a tick, but apparently not. When had his eyes gotten so frighteningly blue? She'd always thought they were more green. Maybe it was the light.

"Why do you always call me..." Large fists clenched a few inches from her head as his arms became a blockade to ensure her an impossible exit. "Why can't you..." His scowl stared straight into her eyes, and she felt a bit nervous that he could see her soul. "You always speak to me as if I'm still a child. Don't. You don't have an _excuse_ anymore. I'm _taller_ than you now, Hinamori." He leaned in and she could smell the sake-laced peach tea on his breath. It was... _nice_. "Don't treat me like a kid."

"But--"

"Stop." She pressed her lips together firmly at the word. "I'm not done." All the slur had up and vanished. "No more 'Little Shiro.' No more '-kun.' I'm not _little_. I'm not _Whitey_. I'm a captain, and I shouldn't tolerate disrespect." He grumbled, "Even Matsumoto refers to me as 'taicho.'"

Hinamori looked down. "I'm sorry if I... if I belittled you, Hitsugaya-kun, but it's just..." She bit her lip for a second before continuing. "I don't like to be formal. Not with you."

"Hinamori..."

"I admit, I wasn't really surprised when you stopped calling me 'Bedwetter Momo,' but at the time I kind of felt..." She stopped. What on earth was she doing, telling him this? Regardless of his state, sober or not, it was a stupid move, telling him how let down she felt when he'd stopped speaking to her in a familiar fashion. It was only for a while, the time that she felt that she was the only one reaching out to an old friend. Then, it stopped completely. He had work as a taicho, and she was busy fawning over Aizen. She made herself busy. She convinced herself to ignore the twinge in the back of her heart whenever she saw the prodigy on the street. He was never too preoccupied to greet her, but the formal "Hinamori" gnawed at her. She never liked the confines of her surname. Especially not from the boy she'd practically grown up with.

"You... liked that?" He cracked a small smile, and suddenly, the long, lean fingers of his right hand wove their way through her parted, choppy bangs. "'Bedwetter Momo?' I didn't know you were fond of that terrible nickname."

"I wasn't!" Her cheeks burned hotly. "It wasn't the name-- it was the way you said it." The heel of his palm pressed gently against her forehead as he raked her bangs back, and then pulled his hand down to the right, until it cupped just below her ear.

"How did I say it?" There was peach and sake on his murmur.

She definitely wasn't distracted by his intoxitating scent."It was like... um..." Definitely not distracted. "Like..." And Hinamori Momo realized that she definitely couldn't coordinate her thoughts with this man's thumb moving nimbly across her lips. Just how drunk _was_ he?! "All right, Hitsugaya-ku... taicho." Forcing her hand to stop trembling, she tore his from her face and gave him her most chastising glare. "You're not going out again with Matsumoto-san until you develop a better tolerance. Do you understand?" She sidestepped him and exited through the gap his arm left. "Now, change, and go to bed."

In another heartbeat, she had fallen for the second time. But this time around, it wasn't her clumsiness.

"I'm sleeping here tonight," he said, hovering inches above her, his knees on either side of her thighs. Once more, her head was traped between his arms. But at least the futon had given her a soft landing.

"E-eh?! Hitsugaya... taicho, what are--"

"Remember that hut in Rukongai?" His head lowered until his forehead tapped her own. "In the winter, you insisted on sleeping with the granny and I? It was always much colder against me than it was outside, wasn't it?"

"Hitsu--"

"Why did you stay?" His voice was a harsh, frustrated whisper. "I never understood. I still don't. I only remember that you were shivering so much when you held me." Cool, frosty lips trailed up the bridge of her nose like fire. "Am I still so cold?"

"Yes." She shivered, but, contrary to what he believed, it wasn't from the cold. "You are."

"Would you still hold me, then?" Hitsugaya brought his knees up, and took the weight of his body from his arms, which neared her head as he cradled it between his cool fingers. "Like you did in the Rukongai? Your arms... tight around me. You held me like a child."

"You... you _were_ a child, Hitsugaya-taicho."

"Never mind," Toshiro mumbled against her temple. "I don't like it."

"W-what-"

"Don't call me 'taicho.'" He sighed. "Don't treat me like a baby. Don't be like you used to. I'm tired of the mothering. Matsumoto does enough of it."

Hinamori felt a prick at her heart. Toshiro... didn't want her care. He didn't know how much she'd loved caring for him. She was excited in coming home to see her Shiro-chan. She'd loved those winter nights, because, even though the little boy _was_ nearly as cold as the falling flakes outside of thin walls, the warmth in her heart made up for it. The child had always been the person closest to her heart.

Still... all of this sexual harrassment, and he didn't want her to hold him anymore?

"Hitsugaya-kun, if you keep changing your mind, I'll _never_ know what you want," she said, slightly exhasperated. _Honestly_.

"What are you talking about, dumb Momo?" he grumbled in return, flicking her lightly on the forehead. "If you can't see it yet, then you _must_ be stupid."

"What?! That's so mean, Shiro-chan! I can never tell what you want because you're always changing your dumb mind!" She wriggled a bit under his hold, and he could practically imagine steam puffing from out her ears. Hitsugaya Toshiro, barely intoxicated and fully aware, smirked.

"My mind has always been this way," he said, holding her still. "Don't see me as a kid." With one hand, Hitsugaya snatched her wrists and pinned her hands above her head. "You act overly familiar with me (and, I'll admit, you have every right to), and I let you live without constantly hanging things above your head, so, please, do me the same favor." He contained himself the first time, letting his fierce, hot mouth press against hers only chastely to gauge a reaction. "I've never seen you as a mother, Hinamori. Not once." Again, but this time, longer. Slower. Fiercer. He pulled himself back, heart rising into his throat on butterfly wings. It was hard to speak. "If you hold me again, please do it with different motives."

She breathed. "Yes, Shiro-chan."

Hitsugaya's eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat. "You're just doing that to piss me off." Still... inwardly... he was relieved. She had agreed. She hadn't played it off as a joke. With those words, not too serious, but not silly either, she had assured him that there were no tense feelings or misunderstandings. She was staying.

In return, Hinamori Momo gave a small laugh, cheeks flushed, heart racing, and craning her neck, she conked her forehead against his. "Yes, Shiro-chan."

- fin -

**Lyrics: I Win, by Abra Moore.  
Aww. Mush. I think I might puke. XD The lyrics at the top inspired me. I love music. I love inspiration. Even though it sucks my will to live.  
Reviews would CHANGE MY LIFE. I might stop drinking. I might quit smoking. I wouldn't waste all my money on crack anymore. I would put my gang-banger past behind me. I would devote my life to serving the community instead of being the street thug that I am. So, please. Review.  
-Bya**


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